Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?
by audhds
Summary: Dean is schizophrenic / suffers from multiple personality disorder. Sam doesn't quite realize what he is letting himself in for when he hits Dean with his car and invites the injured man into his home. One moment, Dean is a terrified, stuttering mess and the next he believes he is the archangel Michael, and that Sam is Lucifer. Stutter!Homeless!Hurt!Dean I don't own SN. One-shot.


**Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?**

**So, this is a one-shot in which Dean has multiple personality disorder / schizophrenia. Part of me wanted to make it a long story, but I already have a long one on the go (about Dean being a feral child) and I don't have time :(**

**All of the symptoms are based on research and case studies that I looked at, but there are probably inaccuracies – this is a very complex topic and I hope I do not offend anyone.**

**If this is a trigger-full topic, please do not read this! I don't want to upset anyone.**

**Anyway, enjoy…and please leave a review!**

Sam drove down the empty street, humming to himself softly and congratulating himself for how good his day had been.

Jess had agreed to meet up with him for coffee next week, he'd received his annual bonus and he was heading home to a good book and a hot bath.

Things were going well, for once.

Sam was so engrossed in his own life that he failed to see the hunched figure step out of the road in front of him, and it was only by pure instinct that he slammed his foot on the brakes when he saw a flash of black in the corner of his eye.

His brain didn't have the chance to catch up.

"SHIT!"

Sam stumbled out of his car and ran to the huddled figure on the ground. The man – Sam assumed it was a man – had been thrown into the air and was now sprawled on the ground. As soon as Sam approached, the man curled up terrified and held his arm closer to his chest, his entire body shuddering and trembling.

"Hey, hey? Are you alright? I'm so sorry; I didn't see you, shit! Are you hurt? Can you hear me? Hello?" Sam knelt down next to the man and placed a large hand on his shoulder, withdrawing when the man let out a choked scream.

"Hey, it's ok, please…don't panic, it's alright, I've go you. I'm sorry for hurting you, please let me help?!" The man on the floor moaned again and tried to pull away, sobbing and writhing on the floor, twisting further away from Sam.

"P-p-please d-ddddddon't h-hurt me. D-d-don't t-t-touch me. P-plll-please s-s-s-s-stop."

"Hey, hey, calm down. It's ok. I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Sam Winchester, I'm a graduate…look, just calm down. Sir, please Sir, you're hyperventilating…shhh, just breathe in and out."

The violently trembling man curled up into a tighter ball, shuddering as he struggled to calm down his breathing. "Well done. That's good, well done, that's it, come on. In…out…in…and out."

Eventually the guy's breaths evened out and he looked up fearfully at Sam, as if waiting to be hit or kicked…or something worse.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you buddy, come on, just…please, you really, really need to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself more. Please just let me take a look at your arm, it's bleeding quite a lot."

The man finally seemed convinced and hauled himself up off the floor. The exertion left him completely exhausted and shaking violently. He swayed violently and Sam was forced to tighten his grip on him when the guy nearly collapsed back down to the ground.

God, Sam could smell the whiskey on his clothes, but he couldn't just leave after screwing up his arm.

Sam gingerly placed a hand on the man's shoulder and wrapped the other around his waist, just about keeping him standing.

"Look, I'm going to try and help you. Can you tell me your name?"

"I-I-I'mmmm D-D—Deee..." The man grimaced when he couldn't get the word out and blinked a few times in distress before covering his face and jerking his head away from Sam to avoid eye contact.

"De…is your name Dean, Sir?"

The man nodded gratefully, moving one of his shaking hands long enough to glance at Sam for any signs of anger, before moving it back for protection and pulling away from the taller man's grasp.

"Ok Dean, everything is alright now." Sam shucked off his jacket and offered it to Dean, who hesitated before snatching at the fabric as if Sam was going to pull it back and mutter _just kidding._

Of course, Sam did not do this. All he did was offer a reassuring smile to Dean as the man looked at him again with wide, emerald-green eyes. Some of the trembling had ceased.

"There we go. Now, I can't drop you off at any shelters now, I don't know where they are and it's late, but is there anyone I can call for you?"

Dean shook his head again, a few tears welling in his eyes, which he brushed away with a shaky swipe of his hand.

"N-n-n-nnnn-nnnnnnnn…"

"Oh, um, well I guess you can sleep round mine…just for tonight so you can warm up and I can look at that cut on your arm. It looks pretty nasty."

Dean looked terrified at this prospect, shaking his head frantically and backing away.

"N-nnnnnn…"

The problem was that he didn't notice the sign post behind him and with a deafening thud he turned and ran headfirst into it, sprawling onto the floor in a crumpled heap.

Sam grimaced, leaning over the prone figure and carefully checking his pulse – it was weak, but fairly steady.

"Ok then, looks like you're coming with me if you want to or not." With a sigh, Sam hauled the man into his arms and carried him to the car, fear rushing through him at how skinny the guy was.

He couldn't weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds.

"C'mon, in you get…" Sam spoke softly to the unconscious man in his arms as he placed him in the shotgun seat and did up his seatbelt.

Then, he drove as quickly as he could back to his small, run-down flat…the run down flat with no elevator.

Dammit…how the hell was he going to carry this guy up five flights of stairs?

Skinny or not, Sam was not Superman.

With a sigh, he hurried inside and knocked on one of his mates doors.

"Hey Steve."

"Sam, what the hell? It's three in the frikken mornin."

"I know, look, I need you to help me carry a mate of mine upstairs. He got pissed at the pub and fell; he's in a pretty bad way."

"Fine, but you owe me a beer for this." Steve shucked on his shoes and walked outside in nothing but his underwear and a thin T-shirt.

He was nothing if not ballsy.

Sam followed his friend out to the car and with great care; they scooped Dean up and lifted him up to Sam's room.

"God, tell your friend to grab a shower…he stinks like hell!"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks, I will."

"Right. Seya tomorrow…and don't forget that beer. Good luck, he's gonna be fun in the morning!"

Steve turned and winked at Sam before jogging back to the confines of his apartment, leaving Sam to haul Dean into his flat and onto the sofa.

He sure did stink, but Sam decided that he would wait until morning before trying to clean the guy up.

Besides, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed himself.

Grabbing his first aid kit, Sam crouched down next to the unconscious man and placed steri-strips along the cut in his head, being careful to wipe the area down with antiseptic cream first.

The man's arm was an issue, and Sam thanked his lucky stars that he had been on multiple first-aid courses, as he knew how to do sutures.

He pulled out his first aid kit and set to work on a skill that was good to know – but that he had hoped would never be needed. The gory sight made Sam gag a few times and his hands were shaking violently, but in the end the job was done.

Dean hadn't so much as stirred once.

Then, he wrapped a bandage around Dean's arm for extra support before chucking a few blankets over him and curling up in his own bed.

Sam pulled a pillow over his head and tried not to think about the fact that he had practically kid-napped a random, drunk stranger and left him on the couch.

He just hoped the guy wasn't dangerous…being stabbed in your own house as a result of doing a good deed did not sound like fun to Sam.

…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…

The next morning Sam woke up and found Dean curled up in the tiniest ball possible, shaking and whimpering softly.

"Morning, are you ok?" Sam approached slowly, remaining a few feet away and jumping when the man peered out from beneath his blanket.

He looked as terrified as Sam felt, if not more.

"W-w-wwhher-erre a-aaa-mmm I-I?"

"I took you to my flat. You passed out last night and I couldn't leave you. It's alright, I didn't do anything weird…other than taking you here…oh God, look, what I'm trying to say is that it's ok, you're safe here."

Dean didn't look completely convinced.

"Right…do you want to take a shower and I'll make you some breakfast." Dean looked at him wearily before nodding and unfurling from his ball slightly.

"Good, um. If you slide your clothes outside the bathroom door I'll wash and tumble dry them for you."

"T-t-thhh-than-k y-you."

"Anytime. Here, take these, you can keep them." Sam indicated to a pair of boxers, sweats, a T-shirt and a baggy wool jumper.

"T-tthanksss."

"No problem." Sam watched as Dean stood shakily and half-ran into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him as fast as he could before taking off his clothes and inching the door open a few centimeters.

Then, a bundle of his clothes were fed through and the door shut again in milliseconds.

It was clear that Dean still didn't trust Sam.

But then again, Sam didn't trust him either…or blame him for being terrified.

When Dean finally emerged from the shower, he was self consciously pulling up Sam's pants, which hung off him ridiculously.

Sam immediately passed him a belt and tried to ignore the way that his smallest top hung loosely off of the other man – it was at least two sizes too big.

"Hey, you look better."

Sam's only answer was a half smile, but that was enough.

"I've made you some breakfast. There's toast and butter, oh and a few jams and PB. Help yourself."

Dean nodded gratefully and sat at the kitchen table, picking up a slice of toast and nibbling at the edges.

"You can eat as much as you like."

Dean nodded and finished off two slices of toast before staggering to his feet, clutching his head.

_What are you doing you piece of shit…human scum...I don't need this! Get that shit out of my vessel right now. I am an angel of the Lord. I do not need food or sustenance._

Michael began to scream in Dean's head, yelling at him to treat his vessel with respect.

Sam watched in horror as Dean doubled up and began to vomit all over the wooden floor.

The man was shaking violently and looked completely white. His freckles stood out and a strand of still-wet hair fell across his eyes.

"Dean, hey, are you okay? Dean?"

Dean stumbled to his feet and glared at Sam, grabbing his arm and glaring at the taller man straight in the eye.

"Brother. You finally decided to answer my calls. I must say, I am disgusted by your behavior. Disobeying Father…the garrison is in turmoil! TURMOIL! All because of you, Lucifer. They are having doubts…DOUBTS! You have made them question their faith. If you do not repent, I am sending you straight back to the cage. I will not be lenient this time."

Sam stared at Dean, completely bemused before sense kicked in and he tried desperately to pull away from the other man's tight grip.

Dean was clearly not Dean.

He was deluded, schizophrenic or had multiple personality disorder…or something. He was completely out of his mind…and dangerous.

Or at least this half of him was dangerous, and this current part was manic. Animalistic. He looked as if he was ready and willing to kill Sam right there and then. It was strange, all of the fear and stuttering was gone, this Dean…or whoever he was, was terrifying.

It was disconcerting.

He remembered reading a thesis on schizophrenia and knew that he was in danger, but there was part of him that thought…hoped that he would be able to help the man.

If he could just get through to him.

"Look, Dean, please. You're hurting me…let go Dean."

"Dean is not here any more, little brother. Please, go to confession. I don't want to hurt you baby brother, you know that."

"Dean, it's me, Sam. I'm not your brother. I'm Sam…people call me Sammy. I am not Lucifer…I'm not the Devil."

"LIES! YOU ARE MY YOUNGER BROTHER, BUT YOU ARE A REAL DICK SOMETIMES AND I WILL NOT HESITATE ABOUT KILLING YOU. YOU DESTROYED HEAVEN. YOU WILL PAY!"

Dean lunged at Sam again, gripping his throat tight.

Sam froze, terrified and managed to gasp out a desperate plea, "Ok Dean, I'll repent. Right now, I'll go to church. I will pray to…our Father. Ok?"

"I'm not Dean. My name is Michael. Do not try to deceive me Lucifer."

"Ok, ok. I love you Michael, you are my older brother. You're right. It's ok. I repent. I repent. Please let me go."

Emerald eyes met hazel ones and for a moment, Sam thought Dean was going to continue strangling him till he died.

But Dean let go and stumbled away from him, falling to the floor and curling up, sobbing so violently that his entire body shook.

"Michael?"

"N-nnn-nnnn-nnnoooo."

"Dean?"

"Y-yyessss."

"What happened?"

"V-v-voiceee. I-in m-mmy h-head. H-hee t-told m-me t-t-t-to. I-I'm s-s-sooo so-sorry. S-s-soo-sorrrry." Dean's hiccups mixed with his stammer rendering him almost unintelligible.

"It's ok Dean, you didn't hurt me. It's alright, I've got you." Sam tentatively wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders and rocked him comfortingly whilst rubbing his back.

Sam could feel Dean's spine and knew Dean wouldn't last much longer if he didn't eat.

He remembered one of his ex-girlfriend's – Jess' friend, who was anorexic with bulimic tendencies.

It looked as if Dean was too, or at least, Dean's body was anorexic and Michael was bulimic…God this was so confusing.

_Scum, don't let him touch my vessel. I will kill you. _

Dean cried miserably, clutching his head before slumping unconscious in Sam's arms.

Sam shook his head grimly and carried the man to the sofa, wrapping him back up in blankets before grabbing his laptop and searching schizophrenia.

"Schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by a breakdown in thinking and poor emotional responses. Common symptoms include delusions, such as paranoia; hearing voices or noises that are not there, disorganized thinking and a lack of motivation and emotion...Social problems, such as long-term unemployment, poverty, and homelessness are common."

Well, Sam was no doctor but that sounded like a pretty close match. Dean was clearly delusional; he thought he was an archangel. He was an emotional wreck, crying and breaking down all over the place. He was paranoid that Sam was Lucifer and heard Michael in his head. Sam didn't think Dean had a lack of emotions-other than anything positive, but that was just one thing. Furthermore, Dean was homeless and clearly unemployed.

Sam shut the laptop and ran a hand through his hair, groaning in despair and wondering what to do.

So he called Bobby.

His father had never been there for him, so Bobby had practically raised him from a kid.

If anyone would know what to do, it was him.

…SN...SN…SN…SN…SN…

"Hey, Bobby?"

"Sam, how are ya?"

"Not great. Look, it's kinda hard to explain, but I hit some guy with my car on the seat and he really needs help. I think he's schizophrenic, he keeps freaking out, saying that he's Michael and that I'm Lucifer…he thinks I ruined heaven!"

"I really haven't drunk enough to cope with this yet!"

"Bobby, please. I need your help."

"Fine, I'm on the way. Just don't do anything too stupid, idjit."

"Thanks Bobby. It means a lot."

"Yeah, whatever. Seya in a couple of hours."

Sam sighed and headed back into the lounge, watching as Dean slept on the sofa, writhing a little in his sleep and moaning. The noises became too much after a while, with Dean's whimpers intensifying, so he put in his MP3 player and tried to block out the distressing sounds. However, when Dean jolted up with a loud scream, Sam was forced into action.

'_Some have greatness thrust upon them_' he thought bitterly.

With another sigh he approached Dean gingerly, noting that the man was drenched with sweat, tears and snot.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Hey, Dean, are you ok? It was just a dream."

"S-S-Sssssss-saaaam?" Dean looked up at Sam owlishly, his green eyes bright and glistening.

"Hey, I'm here, just relax. Are you hungry?"

Dean shook his head, doubling over on himself as if he was trying to fold his way into something so small that he would disappear.

After a moment's hesitation, Sam sat next to the man and wrapped an arm around his back, rubbing it in slow, rhythmic motions until Dean's breathing evened out and he uncurled a little.

"There, are you ok now?"

Dean nodded, leaning into Sam's hold and tentatively resting his head on Sam's chest. After a moment, he looked up, as if expecting Sam to yell at him, but Sam didn't, so he slumped against the taller man and fisted his shirt miserably.

"Sssss-scccaaaaaaaar-rrr-red."

"I know you are, but you don't have to be any more. I've got you, and my friend is coming over, he helped raise me. It's ok, he'll make everything better, he always does."

Dean nodded at this, closing his eyes and humming a song Sam didn't recognize as they sat and embraced on the sofa.

In any other situation, Sam would have run a mile, but he didn't have the heart to move Dean, so they sat like that for a couple of hours, Dean periodically relaxing and tensing.

On occasion, his breaths would hitch and he would begin to hyperventilate, but Sam managed to calm him down each time and eventually coaxed some yoghurt into Dean, who ate it gingerly.

He felt a familiar rise of nausea hit him, but Sam placed a firm hand on his good arm and grounded him.

Michael's voice receded after a few attempts of making him throw up.

"There, you did good. See?"

Dean was about to reply when the doorbell interrupted him and Sam sprung to his feet, practically sprinting to the door.

"Bobby!"

A gruff looking man gave Sam a clap on the back before looking at Dean, who was backing up and cowering.

"Dean, this is Bobby, remember? I said he was going to come and help."

"Yeah, yer alright kid, I aint gonna hurt ya." Bobby smiled gruffly, moving over to Dean and giving his shoulder a tight squeeze.

"I'll put the kettle on." Sam muttered, leaving Dean and Bobby staring at each other.

"So, how come yer here? Where're yer family?"

Dean flinched at this, staring down at his short nails before nibbling at a loose piece of cuticle on his index finger.

He didn't notice when it started to bleed.

"Look, I know it's hard, but I cant help if I don't know who you are. Help me out."

Bobby took a step forwards, hands raised placating, but Dean still freaked out, backing into the sofa and collapsing onto it with a muffled sob.

"Ok, ok. I get it, sorry." Bobby adjusted his cap, wondering what to do.

"You ok?" Sam came in nursing three cups of coffee, which he doled out between them.

"S-SSSSaaaaaa-mm." Dean gasped, his hands were shaking violently and he closed his eyes as bad visions flew in front of his face.

There was blood, so much blood…and someone was leering at him, hurting him and hitting him with a strip of leather. He was lying on the ground, unable to move.

His ribs hurt; his back hurt…every part of his flesh was mottled with bruising and cuts.

He wanted to scream, but nothing would come out other than low whimpers and hisses of agony.

_Weak. So weak and pathetic. No wonder it was so easy to possess you. You just let me in, Dean. I'm an archangel; I can make everything better for you. No-one will ever lay a hand on you again. Not even you're Daddy. Just think abut it, you and me…the dream team. We can get rid of the bad people, Dean. You and I, we'll start with your father, then Lucifer, and then every other scumbag out there. Just don't fight me._

Dean whimpered and shook violently, so deep in his trance that he didn't notice the boiling hot liquid that scolded his torso as he spilt his coffee down himself.

"Dean! DEAN!" Sam called, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder and trying to coax the man back to reality…or the present, Sam wasn't sure which.

Dean shuddered beneath his grip, moaning and thrashing away as unwanted hands began to tug at his shirt.

It was happening all over again…oh god.

Dean retched weakly all over Sam, but Sam didn't so much as flinch. He continued removing the scolding cloth from Dean's chest and when Dean remained unresponsive, he and Bobby carried him to the bathroom and used a cool cloth to sooth his burning skin.

Both men hissed when they saw the sheer amount of scars littering the man's body.

There was barely an inch of skin that wasn't marred with angry welts, most of which were a dark shade of purple and looked swollen and stretched.

It was clear the marks had not healed properly.

"Dean. Dean?" Bobby shook the boy as Sam continued to wipe him down, trying and failing to draw Dean's vacant eyes to his face.

The boy's head was lolling as Bobby shook him and soon he gave up.

"Sam, we are in way out of our depth here. The guy needs help…real help."

Sam nodded and bit his lip.

He knew this was the truth, but still. He wanted to help the man, not pass him on to someone who wouldn't really care about him. He didn't want Dean to become another statistic.

Sam turned his back on Dean to re-wet the cloth, and an instant later he felt someone grip his arm tightly.

"Lucifer? What are you doing to my vessel? I thought you were going to repent…I should have known…"

Realization dawned on Sam and he knew he had to get away.

"Michael…Michael, let go of me…" Sam squirmed, but Dean's bony fingers were clutching him so hard that he couldn't move.

"You should have listened to me, baby brother. Now I have no choice."

Dean lunged at Sam and an instant later, everything went black.

…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…

"Sam, Sam! SAM!" Bobby slapped his surrogate son on the cheek a few times when he first saw Sam stir and was rewarded moments later by a flutter of hazel eyes.

"Wh-wha?"

"Dean got you pretty bad; you hit your head on the sink going down…you got a nice black eye, Sport."

"Ugh…where is he?"

Bobby looked down, shuffling uncomfortably.

"Bobby!"

"He got away. The kid freaked out as soon as you hit the floor, snapped back to himself and started crying. God, if I knew he wasn't dangerous I'd have given him a damned hug…poor kid sure needs it." Bobby paused to readjust his hat…again. "Anyway, I was sorting you out and when I turned round, the kid was long gone…the door was open when I looked up."

"Shit. He's a danger to himself Bobby, what do we do?"

"There's nothing much we can do, other than tell the police that he's out there. I know it's not ideal, but we have to. He's a liability. He needs love and care, he'll be better off somewhere where people can look after him."

Sam nodded…regretting the motion when the world swerved around him, and dialed 911 on his mobile.

"Hi, police please…"

…SN…SN…SN…SN…SN…

Three weeks had passed and part of Sam's brain was telling him that it had all been a bad dream.

That he hadn't run over some schizophrenic homeless guy.

That a man did not desperately need his help.

Of course, this was nonsense and Sam knew it.

The idea of Dean stumbling through the streets alone and vulnerable made him feel sick and he'd only known the guy a couple of days, dammit.

With a muffled groan Sam rolled over in his bed, pulling the covers further up to cover his chin.

He had spent the first few days since Dean had left by the phone, waiting for the police to call him, say that they had found Dean and that he was ok and getting the help he needed.

The call never came.

But the sound of a doorbell did, just as Sam was about to drift off again.

_Ugh…_

Sam forced himself out of bed and hurried to the door, wondering who on earth would come at 1 in the morning.

He shouldn't really have been surprised to see Dean.

But he was, covered in blood, shaking violently and sobbing.

"S'mmmm. I-I d-dddd-nt mmmm-mmmmmm-m-meaeen i-iit. H-h'mmmade m-mee. M'sorrrry. S-sss…"

Dean fell forwards into Sam's outstretched arms, leaving the taller man to lower him gently to the ground.

"Dean, Dean, I need you to talk to me. What happened? Dean?"

"H-hhhh- mmmmadd-de m-me. Di-dd'nt wwwant t-tooo." Sam shushed Dean, trying not to gag at the stench of blood and alcohol.

"Was it Michael, dean?"

"Y-yyyesss. Madddd-de me!"

"I know he did, it's not your fault."

Dean looked at him pleadingly before slumping further to the ground, which is when Sam noticed the deep wound in Dean's side.

"Dean! You're hurt, hang on, it's ok. I'm going to make it ok, You're gonna be fine. Breathe, Dean. Breathe."

"C-ccan't. Doon't…Daaad. I-I-" Dean looked at the blood on his hands and began to sob, breaths hitching as he realized what he had done.

He had killed his father.

He was evil.

Dean sobbed brokenly, burying his face in Sam's chest, even though he didn't deserve the comfort he was receiving.

He was a monster.

_Worthless piece of shit._

Michael's voice blurred with his father's in his head and Dean groaned, pulling at his hair, barely noticing when clumps fell out in his hands.

"Dean, Dean, stop. I've called an ambulance, you're gonna be ok."

Dean didn't answer other than groaning as Sam increased the pressure on the stab wound in his chest.

John had found his son in the back end of an alley, curled up and sobbing. It had been easy to stab the child who had ruined his life – Mary had died so young during childbirth…it was all Dean's fault.

Dean had believed the same thing for years, but that night he snapped.

Michael had told Dean to protect his vessel and John hadn't been counting on Dean grabbing his disguarded knife and stabbing him in the back with it.

John bled out in an instant, leaving Dean terrified and confused.

He had known he needed Sam, but now that he was lying on his back in the other man's apartment, he was as lost as ever.

"You're ok. It's ok. Breathe…Dean!"

Sam shook Dean when the man's emerald green eyes rolled back.

He wouldn't let Dean go like this. He couldn't.

"DEAN!"

Sam slapped Dean hard, momentarily jerking the other man back to reality.

"I need you to stay with me Dean, do you hear?"

Dean groaned and spluttered as blood rose in his throat. He didn't know who the blood belonged to any more; all he knew was that he was drowning in it.

"SS-" he gargled desperately, hands flying to Sam's arm, which he clung onto.

"You're ok."

"D-dn't g-gggo."

"I'm not going anywhere Dean, I promise." Sam shuffled a little, readjusting Dean so the man was seated on his lap. Dean finally relaxed now that he was being enveloped in Sam's arms.

"You're ok." Sam soothed, carding a hand through Dean's short hair and allowing Dean to rest his head on his shoulder.

Dean let out another whimper and his head lolled off Sam for a moment, but Sam repositioned him and shushed him gently.

"Everything is going to be ok, I promise."

Sam had never wished for anything to be truer, but part of him knew that Dean was too far gone.

There was blood on the walls, the carpet, the door and all over his own clothes.

He knew it was over.

Sam placed a gentle kiss on Dean's forehead and rocked the broken man gently as he let out one last shuddering breath.

In his last moments of life, Dean thanked the angels for not letting him die alone…and then everything went black.

**The End**

**I understand that this is probably not medically accurate, but every case study and website I found was different – I hope any inaccuracies did not offend.**

**So, please let me know what you think! Your reviews mean the world to me!**


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